(Just going to do a bit of practice, heven't written prose for a while now)

"Prepare yourselves" A vague order, or maybe advice.And Kittokh knew he needed to anyway, cooped up in that imperial craft, he'd gotten stiff, dulled, the flows from senses to perception, and intent to movement, had gone weak for lack of use.

Yes, he'd have to get stronger, and that meant he needed some action, some TERM UNKNOWN.The humans, if they understood, might call it play, or might call it training, improvisation and changing of drills and exercises.He set off, making his way around the ship, quick and quiet, taking short cuts, vaulting, mantling, and climbing wherever the quickest way wasn't designed.

He dodged the notice of personnel wherever possible, and mapped the ship out in his head.

And he planned a heist.

Of course he could get meals from the canteen, at set times, like everyone else, but, as the younglings were always told:"We get like what we eat".

You didn't have to be a Shaper to know, that eating that man-bred, factory-excreted gene-slop from the canteen, for a week, would mis-shape him revoltingly.

Accepted sheets have been listed just after the OP. Opening Post will be up when it is ready, which should be fairly soon.

Also, a FAIR WARNING.

Those of you who have chosen to EXPUNGE your history have essentially signed it over to me to decide what it is, so later in the RP you may (or may not) receive bits and parcels of data as your character encounters things that remind him/her of(or actually are) people and events from his/her past.

"Fight, citizens of Desolous! You cry out that you have nothing to fight with, but it is written! A man who has nothing can still offer his life! Fight the heretic, slay the heretic even if you must use your bared and bloody hands to do it! Do not sit idle, lest you become the parasite! The Emperor knows, the Emperor is watching! Have faith in your heart and know the Emperor protects! Do not cry out that you lack weapons, for the keenest blade is righteous hatred!"

The bellow was endless from the massive speakers that constantly screamed from the uppermost reaches of Hive Veridan. The Hive itself was a fortress now, with every trace of it bristling with cannon. The fields around the city, once thick with the city's wastes, now were thick with another kind of waste, the bodies of heretics, and the great vehicles that were both armored machine of death and mobile shrine to the Ruinous Powers, hundreds of them now lying in newly made craters and ditches, warp-fire pouring from the holes rent in their plating by the roar and the clash of the Emperor's holy cannons.

Hive Veridan stood strong and resolute, but Hive Veridan would fall. Even as hundreds of fighters and transports fell from the skies on their mad approach to the city, a few were making their way through, disgorging hundreds and thousands of their deadly payloads, whether it be deadly weapons or Chaotic Warriors, and all the while the charge continued, traitors being cut down by the thousands by the weapons of the Imperial Guard, their bolters and autocannons and lasguns shredding the poorly armed, under-equipped cultists by the thousands. It was a massacre.

From a fortified tower, built to withstand shelling from anything short of an Imperator Titan, Lord-General Hasin Al-Assad watched the raging battle, his face pensive and unreadable. Inside his mind, he couldn't shake one thought.

How many of those men lying dead on the fields around the city were his Guardsmen? How many thousands? Of the millions-strong army he commanded, how many had turned their weapons on their own colonels and commissars? How could so many once-loyal men be so twisted?

"There will be a time to tally our dead later, General."

The Lord-General turned away from the small, heavily reinforced window, and nodded. Even after two centuries of conflict, and fighting at their side many times, he could not shake the feeling of childish awe he had at the sight of them. The speaker was a giant, standing eight feet tall at the shoulder and was at least twice as broad as the Lord-General, who himself was not a small man. With every step he made a thud like a small earthquake. Every movement he made seemed oddly gentle, like he was taking care not to accidentally put his fist through anything he touched.

He was Captain Victarius, of the Excoriators. Space Marine. One of the Emperor's Angels of Death.

"Yes, of course."

Victarius would not have been here without a reason - even with another Marine standing beside him, performing surgery on him, removing most of a Chaos Marine's broken chainsword from his side.

"Brother-Captain, if you would remain still, this is somewhat delicate work." Victarius' face betrayed only the slightest hint of pain as the blade was extracted from him, the occasional twitch of his lip as a huge, razor-sharp barb the size of a small knife was slid free.

"While I am being treated it seems like a good time for us to discuss our...strategy."

"Yes, Captain." One might make the mistake of thinking that a Lord-General of the Imperial Guard outranked a Marine Captain. That was not quite the case. Evidence of that was plainly presented on Captain Victarius' head, the four bolts indicating he had fought for the Imperium for twice as long as Lord-General Al-Assad had even been alive.

"Chaotic troops are pouring into the Hive. My Marines can hold the line, but the Word Bearers are here as well, and in great numbers."

"Excuse me! Excuse me!" A young Lieutenant burst into the command center, blanching as he saw the Lord-General and the Captain in deep conversation. "Your...I beg your pardon, my lords."

There was a short pause, then Captain Victarius spoke. "Speak."

"Astropath Secundus has sensed movement in the Warp. When we turned sensors to check, we found numerous warp portals forming. The Liberation Fleet has arrived, my Lords."

* * * * *

Even as they spoke, the Liberation Fleet was bustling, Guardsmen loading onto thousands of transports while Marines secured themselves in drop pods. The first wave was soon to launch, and those looking up from the Hive would see what would appear at first to be shooting stars, until it suddenly was something else entirely. Armored warriors - Marines of the Black Templars, Blood Ravens, Angels Encarmine, Redemptors, and many more crashed onto the battlefield. Dreadnoughts burst free from drop pods, letting loose wave after wave of assault cannon fire that reduced cultists to a spray of viscera, or unleashed waves of fire from Multi-Meltas that turned tanks into quivering puddles of scrap and men into puffs of steam, or engaged in close range, flamers belching fire that turned heretic into torch, gripping and throwing and tearing into the weak bodies of the malefactor.

Storms of dropships descended from the sky, disgorging millions of guardsmen into Hive Veridan to retake the lower reaches. In the depths of the city, the men and women of the Valhallan Ice Warriors, Tallarn Desert Raiders, Death Korps of Krieg, Cadian Shock Troops, Elysian Drop Troops, and so many others poured into the city, or landed massive battalions of tanks and artillery to restore superiority.

Overhead, swarms of Imperial Navy fighters retook the skies, Chaos fliers falling in droves under their guns, while bombers delivered their payloads, reducing the heretical artillery to little more than slag and sending their soldiers running for the hills, where they were gunned down by guardsman and marine.

Further above still, battleships and cruisers exchanged lance and missile fire, both rocking under the weight of continent-destroying firepower smashing against void shields and meters-thick layers of adamantium plating. The Imperium carried the day here as well, the warships of Chaos, anointed with their foul sigils and devoted to the ruinous powers unable to stand against the furious might of the Emperor's judgment as delivered by torpedo and macrocannon, or the blaze of the Emperor's wrath as brought by lance and nova cannon, the great cathedral-ships of the Chaos Gods breaking apart or crashing to the moon under the relentless force of the Imperium of Man.

* * * * *

The battle raged still, and yet Inquisitor Markarova could already feel the cries of triumph. How could they feel victory already? They had routed a company, a battalion, a fleet. The Liberation Fleet's strike was like a bee stinging at the neck of a great dragon. If the dragon even deigned to notice them it was an imperceptible flinch. Chaos was unstoppable, and while that rent, that tear in the Materium still existed, Desolous was damned.

"Inquisitor Markarova." She turned around as she was addressed and nodded.

"The battle is over, the skies are clear. It is safe for me to descend."

"Yes, Inquisitor." The personnel aboard Excruciatum Hereticus had gotten used to the Inquisitor seeming to know just about everything before she was informed, although there wasn't any question why, she carried her Force Staff openly - the Inquisitor liked to tap it as she walked down the corridors of the upper reaches of the ship, a reminder that she was there - she was watching. She knew their minds, knew their little blasphemies, their minute heresies - and for the moment she may not care, but she was filing them away in her mind.

"Tell my team to join me aboard my personal craft. They know where to find it."

Not G. 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

Sister Helena looked up from her scriptures as the servo skull deposited it's message. They had finally left the hellhole that was the warp. Now, now it was time to bring these heretics the Emperor's judgement. She rose from her small table, littered with rolls of scripture, half burnt candles, and a empty plate from a long finished meal. She changed from her simple robes into her Adeptest Soriatas Armor. The armor was as scarred as she was, but no gashes marred the symbols of the Sister Hood. Setting the Fleur De Lis broach at her neck to hold her cloak in place, Helena set for from her small cabin and made for the armory.

Various adepts and crew members scuttled around as she made her ways down the hall. Few stood in her way for vary long. As she approached the armory door, she saw a flash of red and black, but when she turned her head to follow, there was nothing. "It is not wise to sneak up on a Sister of Battle, Acolyte." She said turning around to face the woman who only identified her self as Trix. She was leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed a small smirk toying at her lips.

"And it is not wise to ignore your surroundings, even on an Inquisitors ship, Sister." She shot back, soliciting and growl from Helena. She said toying with the hem of the hood she always wore. "Now shall we grab our weapons and meet the Inquisitor before we are both spaced?" She asked her tone going flat. Helena only grunted in response and pushed the armory door open. As the two women entered several heads turned, only to turn back to whatever had occupied them in the first place. Both women glared at the Xeno's, Helena at the Ork, and Trix at the Kroot. Helena mumbled something about filthy greenskin. Trix just made a mental note Remeber: watch fire around Xeno's. Wouldn't want 'em getting hurt now. She thought fighting to keep the grin from her face.

Helena grabbed her Godwyn-pattern Bolt pistol and inferno pistol and strapped them to her thighs. Her black chain sword went to her hip and the belt holding her grenades clicked into place around her waist. She hefted her Heavy Flamer with a smirk and a grunt. Chaos would burn this day, and she would deliver them unto the holy flame gladly.

Trix grabbed her long las and strapped it to her back. Her hand cannon and stub revolver went to her waist and her knife in the top of her boot. Light equipment to be sure, but no less lethal than what the other members of The Inquisitors team were currently outfitting them selves with.

They both made their way out of the armory, avoiding the Xeno's like the plague they were. They both made their way to the hanger and made a beeline for the Inquisitors personal vessel.

It is time my brothers and sisters. IT IS TIME. Time to show the heretic what it means when he betrays his brothers, sisters, family, comrades and the Emperor. It is time to show those that have cast them self of the righteous path and have given them self to demons. It is time my brothers and sisters. IT IS TIME, to show them what they have brought on to them self my brothers and sisters. For the have brought on to them the wrath of the righteous and the just.

I am talking about YOU my brothers and sisters. For we will show what happens when you turn away from him, our savior. The Emperor.

Don't fear death my brothers and sisters. For it will be the greatest and final sacrifice you can give the Emperor. For after this sacrifice, you will be able to take your place with your other brothers and sisters beside him.So have no fear my brothers and sisters. For you are not alone. Have faith in the brother or sisters besides you, for they are your comrades in arms. Have faith in your commanders, because they will see you to victory. AND HAVE FAITH IN THE EMPEROR, BECAUSE THE EMPEROR PROTECTS.

Ishmael Havelock shouted through the speaker in front of a congregation of guard's man and navy service man in one of the many chapels of the Excruciatum Hereticus. In the weeks that he had been on the ship, Ishmael had been preaching here to the faithful. For even travelling between planets, a holy man never stopped preaching in his name, was Ishmael's opinion.

Closing the book that he always carried with him, Ishmael first secured it back to his belt before turning back to his congregation. Making the sign of the Aquila on his chest, Ishmael said on more time THE EMPEROR PROCTECTS before stepping of the altar. With mass done, some of the guard's man made their way to Ishmael for one last blessing before they went to war. While giving his finally blessing to the last guard's man, a clergy man made his way towards Ishmael.

"I am sorry father, but are you Confessor Ishmael Havelock?" the man asked. "That I am, thought you don't look like someone in need of a blessing. Have you come to confess a sin then or is it something else?" Ishmael asked. "I was told to give you this message. It is time" the man said before excusing himself and heading back where he came from."So it seems" Ishmael said to himself before heading towards the gear he carried and taking out his weapon's and armour. Picking them up, Ishmael made his way towards the altar and put them on it. Heading back to his gear, Ishmael got out the holy water and oil and made his way back towards the altar. Putting it also on the altar, Ishmael kneeled in front of the altar and prayed.

I tread the path of Righteousness. Though it be paved with broken glass, I will walk it barefoot; though it cross rivers of fire, I will pass over them; though it wanders wide, the light of the Emperor guides my step.

Having done this, Ishmael got back up and made his way towards the altar. Picking up the water, Ishmael first cleansed his gear, before applying the oil to them with exception of his flamer. With this done, Ishmael gather his gear and equipped his weapons and armour, before making his way towards the Inquisitors vessel.

Billy Mcgee was in his armory (all other of the Guardsman staying well clear of him), grabbing his weapons. His order was clear, chosen personally of millions to help fight with the Inquisitor Markarova because somebody in the vast network of Imperial command secretly wanted her dead for his undying loyalty to the God Emperor. He was not happy to be fighting with dirty Xeno scum, but if the Emperor wills it...

Billy grabbed his gear, a few grenades, his laser rifle, combat knife, standard armor, red bandana, and Imperial Infantryman's Uplifting Primer. Thankfully the normally extremely crowded decks of the barracks cleared themselves as Billy went forward towards the vessel, Billy assuming they were told the vitalness of his mission. One fellow guardsman impaled himself on a bent pipe, having tripped in his attempts to flee Billy.

There would be no time to mourn, Billy had seen much death, so much death, that another didn't phase him. Althought, that was more because Billy honestly did notice the corpse.

He'd been lended quarters but, there was no way to leave them long, without allowing the more mischievous humans to sabotage the place.

The humans were, after all, ambitious and crowded, so with some thought, it made a sort of sense that, to avoid horrors of chaos, they had to focus ambition on serving one god, and sacrifice their own lives.

The race almost seemed designed to suffer, and end up so hateful.

The upshot was that kit, and a place to sleep, had to be kept hiddem in the ventilation system, and he got dirty looks almost every time he was seen, Kittokh couldn't wait to get his job over with, and show his worth to the tribe hired by Marakova.

His comms unit started speaking, he didn't have an ear hole to fit the speaking part in, but, knotted into his quills, it was loud and clear.

No reply was needed, so he just strapped on his gear, and bounded away.On the way he found a guardsmans corpse, impaled onto a pipe out to be fallen on.The smell of blood couldn't be ignored, and he quickly found the source, a major blood tube he hadn't known the place of before, handy.

A quick taste, licked off of a talon, revealed the potential he once had, the youth and recent health of the alien.Some clicks and a low whistle in turn, showed respects and appreciation for the stranger, now as polite as a grave.

He hurried on, reaching the Inquisitors' personal craft, his movements sparse and silent, a relic of flying ancestors.

Captain Lucien Harewood was in his assigned quarters. That wouldn't last long. He was dressed in full armour and uniform, weapons ready, as was his custom. The order had come and he wasn't going into battle with his men. He had been summoned by the Inquisition for a mission.

Lucien stood up straight, chest high and both hands on his cane. Turning towards the door he strode out, cane tucked under his arm and headed for the hangar.

The hangar was a great expanse of old and new ships though the Inquisitors was distinct. No Inquisitor hid in a crowd or was unnoticeable. Their ships and equipment were no different. Their retinues too were unique, Captain Harewood noticed several others making their way towards the vessel, xeno and human alike. It was time to join them.

Kittokh took a look round at his new colleagues, only one seemed to notice him, with the customary glare, the Kroot looked back at his rival in stealth, the designated marksman, but glaring didn't come naturally to his kind, whose eyes were white all over, without direction.

Trix eyed the Kroot that spoke. Katt something she thought it's name was. Not that it mattered. It took mutch of her training as both as Inquisitorial Acolyte and an Assassin to keep the grimace from her face at the thought of the xeno striking up a conversation. But she responded all the same.

"I am no hunter, Xeno. I am a killer. Hunting implies that my prey may escape. And today, be thankful it only boils down to the forces of chaos. Tomorrow it could be daemons and heretics. It could be you. It would be you right now, if the Inquisitor didn't find it necessary that we have....assistance with the chaos below." She said Not looking at the Kroot.